


A Memory of February

by handwritten (onefromanotherworld)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onefromanotherworld/pseuds/handwritten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are preparing for their tenth anniversary party and start remembering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Memory of February

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dee_linquent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dee_linquent/gifts).



> This is the first fic I've written and finished. It was a gift for deebauchery on tumblr. Comments are always appreciated :)  
> Btw, none of the characters are mine, because if they were, you wouldn't know them :P

Sherlock and John were getting ready for their tenth anniversary party at 221B Baker Street. They had a little less than one hour to finish and they were not even done in spite of it being quite a simple affair. It was amazing how quickly a whole morning could be over when preoccupied in certain activities. Mycroft had been detained at work and had apologized by sending a crew to clean the place and set a proper table for the event. John appreciated the sentiment but it had not been the best of timings. The worst part was that Mycroft was probably very aware of that.

  
After taking a shower and dressing while the crew worked, Sherlock started by putting the quiches in the oven and taking out the cheese from their small fridge, arranging generous portions of them on different platters. He smiled at the memory of the first time they had celebrated with a tray of cheese. It had been on their first Valentine’s Day together, a month and a half after finally confessing their feelings for each other, encouraged by their excess of adrenaline result of a particularly dangerous case. In truth, they wouldn’t have had celebrated at all had it not been for Molly and her romantic view of the holiday.

  
 _‘So, are you doing anything special for Valentine’s with John?’ She had asked one afternoon at the lab of St. Bart’s._  
 _Sherlock had scoffed. ‘Why would I subject us to a distorted holiday on which stores thrive by playing with people’s emotions and insecurities?’_  
 _Molly had been expecting that answer and had simply returned an impish smile ‘Because I happen to know it’s one of John’s favourite holidays and it’s the first one you two are sharing, so he might be secretly wishing for something to happen’._  
 _‘Oh’, was all he had managed to answer as understanding dawned on him._  
 _He had rushed home to do some research on what would be a suitable present. He had gone through his stack of My Weeklys, he had watched some of the —apparently— most popular movies of the season as suggested in the magazines, such as ‘Pride & Prejudice’, ‘Letters to Juliet’, ‘Stardust’, ‘Moulin Rouge’, ‘Love Actually’ (which, for some reason reminded him of John) and even an animated version of the Swan Lake atrociously named ‘The Swan Princess’ (honestly, who came up with such original titles?). Then he had extended his research to online sites and ended up in one by a Martha Stewart person. But none of the options had seemed right, least of all covering their bed in rose petals and buying himself some lingerie, somehow he doubted John would like something like that. In the end, they had started their own tradition by adapting some of the most sensible ideas: he had gotten John a basket full of jams instead of a heart-shaped box of chocolates, a nice selection of cheese as dinner, including Camembert, which was a favourite of both, and John had arrived with some wine because it was the safest option he had come up with after wracking his brains in search for something that Sherlock wouldn’t sneer at. He had also bought some honey. So they had had a simple candle-lit dinner with cheese, honey, jam and, later, Sherlock had played the violin. It had been simple, yet appropriate for them._

  
John left Sherlock to take care of the food since he had better taste to make things appealing to the senses while he took care of the rest. He took out his laptop and connected it to a pair of small speakers so that they could have some music during the party. The first song of his music library that started playing was _Rhapsodie Norvégienne_ , one of Sherlock’s favourite pieces, which took him back to their seventh anniversary.

  
 _Mycroft had gotten them an invitation to a special private concert on the works of Édouard Lalo that a politician had arranged for a foreign dignitary. Getting in was absolutely impossible, unless you had a minor position in the government, of course. Sometimes his brother-in-law’s work came in handy. It hadn’t been so simple, however, as few things were with Mycroft. First John had had to beg him to look into the matter and then Sherlock had had to agree to help with two cases on blackmail to members of his office. It had been tiresome and dull but in the end it had been worthwhile. The performance had moved the detective to tears and John had been moved by Sherlock’s sudden vulnerability. He really treasured the moments when his husband let his mask fall and was just himself with him._  
 _They had returned to the flat late, Sherlock high on the perfection of each and every one of the pieces, finding them a special place in his mind palace. They had eaten their cheese and drank the whole bottle of wine while sitting on the floor of the living room, next to the chimney, Sherlock explaining the background of everything they had listened to. John simply listened enraptured by his partner’s enthusiasm, memorizing the twinkle in his eye, falling a little more in love with the man in front of him. After that night, John had started to perceive classical music from a different light. It was impossible not to._

Now that there was music to work to he went to wash the flutes for the champagne. He found Billy the Skull next to the sink, and then decided to give him a bath as well while he was at it. It was rare for Billy to find his way to a part of the kitchen that wasn’t the table. Still, each time he had was related to a fond memory. For instance, six years before.

  
 _A row over the correct use of the fridge had endangered their fourth celebration. It had all started two days before when John had arrived home starving just to find the fridge full of experiments and a couple of ears in a Tupperware._  
 _‘Not today! Is it too much to ask just once… Sherlock!’ he wasn’t letting this one go._  
 _Sherlock came down from the shower, completely unfazed by his actions in the kitchen and had actually looked hurt when John had suggested that they should dispose of all the body parts and try to store food in the fridge for a change. Twenty minutes of shouting later, he had gone for a pint with Lestrade and hadn’t returned to the flat until the next day with his mind set on not talking to Sherlock unless he apologized or something. They hadn’t spoken for a whole day and John didn’t know whether to let it go lest they spent their anniversary apart or set his foot down for the sake of hygiene and the possibility of a good meal once in a while. The following day, however, as he had entered the kitchen to get his customary morning cup of tea, he found a brand new mini-fridge next to the original one. Sherlock must have had it installed while he was confined in his old room. He had even put what little they actually ate in it and had placed Billy on top of it with a note between his teeth that said ‘Sorry’. John had been ecstatic! He had rushed to their room to express his gratitude and they had spent the rest of the morning in bed and the afternoon watching Bond movies, because John was making the most of a regretful Sherlock. Later that night, they ate cheese, jam and honey until they couldn’t have one more bite._

Mr. Skull was shining but he was still missing something.  
‘Sherlock, Billy needs his top hat, could you get it please?’ said John while beginning to wash the flutes.  
‘Certainly.’ Sherlock finished arranging the platter he was working on and went to their bedroom. The last time Billy had worn his hat had been at their wedding, a little over a year after their first Valentine’s.

  
 _The second year had been easier than the first one. They had decided to get married on February 23th and had moved the celebration to their now anniversary. The party had been at the Holmes Manor with their few friends and even fewer family members since not many had supported Sherlock’s decision and John didn’t have many relatives himself. Harriet hadn’t stayed long and John’s mother had taken his aunt home as soon as night had approached. Mummy had decided to take care of the catering and had ordered a real feast of several types of quiches, crepes, salmon and five salads to choose from. She was at peace now that she knew Sherlock would not end alone like she had feared for so long and had been only too happy to welcome John to the family. Mycroft had supplied the cake, a large five-layered chocolate masterpiece, covered in vanilla rolled fondant with sugar appliques on the top and the bottom of each layer, that reminded them a little of 221B. It had been big enough for ten times their party and had mysteriously disappeared the very moment the guests had gone. They both had thanked Mycroft’s good taste of not placing a pair of ridiculous figurines on top._  
 _Instead of vows they had exchanged small poems, just a verse, that they chose for each other. Billy had been the poem-bearer. Sherlock’s had been written by the Bard himself, of course; John’s on the other hand, had been inspired by popular culture, he had taken the lyrics of the theme song of one of his favourite movies. Lestrade had been the first one to identify the source and had had the hardest time controlling his laugh. To the chagrin of his mother, they had decided against buying rings. It wasn’t practical, for they wore medical gloves on a regular basis and risked losing their rings at some point. Not that something as such would have an impact on how they felt for each other. It was an unnecessary expense, nonetheless._

He must have drifted for almost ten minutes given that suddenly _She loves you_ started playing on John’s laptop.  
‘Really, John? Why would you have something like that next to _Rhapsodie Norvégienne_? It’s insulting.’  
‘Sorry, love, it’s on shuffle.’ John laughed from the kitchen.

_They had been really busy with a triple homicide and kidnap on the fifth year and hadn’t even noticed the date approaching. Molly and Greg, however, had and a party was thrown. Lestrade had called them to the Met late in the afternoon. When they had arrived, it hadn’t been in the best of the moods: Sherlock was starting to feel hungry for the first time in days and John was extremely upset, he had just noticed it was their anniversary and dreaded to start another case so soon, Sherlock needed to eat and rest before jumping on another marathon of adrenaline. Instead, the Inspector had led them to his car without any explanation whatsoever and driven them to Angelo’s. The pair was confused for a minute, why would the DI call them just to bring them back to their flat? Well, almost. Sherlock, of course, had been the first one to realize what was happening, it would have been sooner had he not been so hypoglycaemic. He tried to run away from the inevitable event but John had chastised him much to Lestrade’s amusement._  
 _They had entered the restaurant to find Molly, Mike, Mrs. Hudson, Dimmock, Harry, Sarah, and even Mycroft and Anthea inside, though the latter only stayed for a few minutes. It was a small get-together, someone had rented a karaoke-machine and their friends had sung off-key love songs for two hours straight. It didn’t take them long to forget their tiredness and were soon enjoying the company. The favourite numbers of the night had been Mike with a cover of ‘She loves you’ and Lestrade’s ‘Gives You Hell’. A few pints later, John had managed to convince Sherlock to go on stage to sing ‘Skyfall’ but, if he had to be honest, they had only giggled through the whole song. It had been quite an unusual way to celebrate their anniversary but they wouldn’t have changed a thing._

Sherlock ignored the song and got Billy’s hat out of his closet, taking out a special picture while he was at it.

_Year eight had seen them in the hospital. Sherlock had been badly injured running after a suspect. His accomplice had hit him with their get-away car and the detective had ended up in surgery._  
 _‘I’m right here, love, you are going to be alright. I talked to the doctor and he said you injuries are not very serious but you’ll have to take it easy for a couple of weeks. I don’t know how we’ll survive your boredom.’ He chuckled. ‘Have I ever told you how much I love you? Since the very first day, I don’t kill evil cabbies for just anyone, you know…? When will you learn not to follow a suspect on your own? You have to learn to be careful, Sherlock, I don’t think I can live without you, not again. You hear me? I won’t go through that again. When you recover though, I promise we can visit Molly to get something interesting for you to experiment with, just don’t mess with my tea, please.’ He took one of his husband’s hands in one of his and caressed his forehead with the other. ‘You know, there’s something I wanted to tell you tonight when we got back to the flat. You probably already know what it is, after all nothing escapes the prying eye of the great Sherlock Holmes but I want to make it official. You need to wake up so I can tell you, alright? It’s important.’_  
 _John had stayed up all night next to his bed just talking. He promised many things. In the end he decided to write them all down, he didn’t want to forget any and make empty promises. However, Sherlock was so happy that John was alright and that he hadn’t died that he ignored all the promises, but kept the letter in his night table drawer. When they had gotten back to Baker Street, John did give him his surprise: it was the picture of a little house in Surrey where they could retire when the time came. It had enough space for Sherlock to have beehives and a good porch for John to write his stories. They both pretended Sherlock was not already aware of everything._

A small whine got them both out of their thoughts.  
‘Aww! Look who woke up! Did you sleep well, puppy? Are you hungry?’ John asked while he kneeled to scratch Gladstone’s belly; he had spent all day sleeping next to the fireplace but had been distracted from his dreams by the smell of food.  
‘Stop calling him a puppy, John. He’s over a year old now.’ Sherlock scolded him.  
‘He will always be a puppy to me, right boy? Come; let’s get you something to eat before the guests arrive.’ He stood up and returned to the kitchen with the dog on his heels.  
Sherlock couldn’t do anything else but smile whenever he saw John with their chubby bulldog.

_The previous year, while returning from a rare stroll, they had gone next to a pet shop and seen a white and brown puppy with a black spot on his right eye. Sherlock knew that John had always wanted to have kids but both of them agreed it would be far too dangerous to subject a child to their type of life. Gladstone had finally changed them from a couple to a family. Mrs. Hudson had only been too happy to have that ‘bundle of joy’ moving in and started making dog biscuits right away. Sherlock had insisted on the need of training the dog and had declared that it would not be allowed on the bed under any circumstances but was overpowered by the end of the first night._  
 _The puppy was slow, loud, afraid of thunder, and a bottom-less pit, still they did not understand how they had gone so long without him. He always followed one of them while they were at home, ‘sang’ when Sherlock played the violin, rested his head on John’s lap when he was watching the telly and kept Mrs. Hudson company when they were on a case. The teething stage and potty training had been a real problem with all the things Sherlock was used to leave on the floor; once, he even had gotten sick over Mycroft’s shoes on one of his visits. That was the day when Gladstone had finally won a special place in the detective’s heart._

‘Just make sure he behaves at the party, John. I don’t want to have to clean up after him.’  
‘Right, like you clean up after him ever’, said John while pouring some kibble in Gladstone’s dish.  
Sherlock smiled and went to put Billy and the picture of their new house on the mantel. Today they were telling their friends about their new property. It would be some years before they moved, though. They were in no rush to leave Mrs. Hudson or London anytime soon. Then again, a change of scenery now and then had never hurt them, for instance, when they had ended in Dublin.

_It had been on their sixth year anniversary. The wife of a millionaire had asked them to find a stolen diamond and the lead had taken them through three countries. In truth, the case had been much too simple, completely dull and unimaginative. He wouldn’t have taken in but for the fact that they had many bills to pay and John had insisted that it would be an easy way to get out of debt and even be able to save some money. They had flown to Paris to inspect their client’s home. After registering the safe in the family room and talking with some members of the staff, Sherlock had concluded that the woman’s daughter had taken the diamond to show it to her friends at boarding school. Then she had lost it to a bully. Had her husband been less obnoxious and stopped criticizing every one of Sherlock’s movements, the detective would have deigned to tell him from the very beginning where to find the precious stone. Instead, he had decided to keep the charade and to visit Switzerland on the pretence of talking to the guilty teenager. Then they had travelled to Dublin, where the diamond had ended after the thief had exchanged it for some drugs while on vacation._  
 _They stayed in Dublin for a week just for the fun of it. Sherlock had assumed they could use a vacation and didn’t see the harm in it being free. That year they had splurged on champagne instead of their traditional wine and slept watching the stars from the balcony in their room, John telling him for the umpteenth time the names of all the constellations they could see._  
 _‘See those three stars over there? Those are Orion’s belt.’ John pointed to their right. ‘If you follow that line there, you can see the shape of Orion himself.’ In truth, John didn’t know much about astronomy and was terrible at explaining what little he did know but Sherlock simply hummed in approval and tried to see what the blond man tried to describe. He had never bothered to memorize any of these short impromptu lessons so that John could keep teaching him whenever the opportunity arose._

  
John snuck up on him still standing in front of the mirror of the mantel, reminiscing. He was getting sentimental.  
‘Alright, love?’ he asked looking at the detective in the reflection, kissing his neck lightly once and hugging him from behind.  
‘Yes, I’m fine; I was just thinking… how did we manage to go through a whole decade? How come you haven’t run away to save your sanity?’ he turned to look at John with eyes full of confusion.  
John took a step closer. ‘Where is this coming from? You know I love you, I always will. I’ve spent the best years of my life at your side and plan on continue doing it for a long time. Besides, where did you get the notion that I have some sanity left in me?’ He smiled.  
Sherlock chuckled. ‘Mmm… you might be right, no one in their sound mind would have accepted to move in with me in the first place. We are just a couple of lunatics’.

>   
>                                                                                                                    **Doubt thou the stars are fire,**  
>  **Doubt that the sun doth move,**  
>  **Doubt truth to be a liar,**  
>  **But never doubt I love.**
> 
> **Where you go I go**  
>  **What you see I see**  
>  **I know I’d never be me**  
>  **Without the security**  
>  **Of your loving arms**  
>  **Keeping me from harm**  
>  **Put your hand in my hand**  
>  **And we’ll stand**  
>  **Let the sky fall**  
>  **When it crumbles**  
>  **We will stand tall**  
>  **Face it all together**

They kissed for a good five minutes before they heard the bell downstairs, a hurried set of paws running down and Lestrade yelling ‘No, Gladstone, no! Down, boy, down! Don’t slobber my trousers! Someone get him off me!’ The kissed died in a chuckle and they went out to save the DI from their ferocious pet.

  
The end


End file.
